Last Kiss
by lysjelonken
Summary: Songfic based on Last Kiss by Taylor Swift. Angst, because I'm a glutton - On opposite sides of the country, two people sit. Yearning for each other. Your name forever the name on my lips, just like our last kiss. Jisbon X


**Last Kiss**

**Sort of a songfic I had in my heart. Based on 'Last Kiss' by Taylor Swift. Yes, it's angst, for I can't help myself and am an angst-glutton.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, not the show and not the song**

* * *

_I still remember the look on your face_

_Lit through the darkness at one fifty eight_

_The words that you whispered for just us to know_

_You told me you loved me, so why did you go_

_Away?_

She sat in the darkness in her cold, lonesome apartment like she had for the last few months, every night.

It was late; she didn't know how late. She doesn't keep track anymore.

She hugs her knees tighter and pulls the bottle of Tequila closer so she can take another long swig. The radio is playing a song she doesn't know and she isn't really even listening to it. She's just wallowing, like a weak person. She hates it – she's become her father, killing herself with booze in mourning of lost love – but she can't stop herself from falling into it.

All she sees is his face in her mind's eye: they were right here, in her apartment. He was sorry, she could see it in his eyes, but not sorry enough. It wasn't going to keep him from leaving.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear that he loved her. That he'd miss her so much.

"Goodbye, Teresa." He whispered, and she felt the warm teardrop against her cheek.

_But now I'll go _

_Sit on the floor wearing your clothes_

_All that I know is I don't know_

_How to be something you miss_

He left his shirt there that night. She isn't even sure in what he left.

But then again, nothing about Patrick Jane has ever been sure for her. She feels the cotton cool against her skin, soft from years of being worn and washed by the man she missed so much. It still smelled like him a little bit. Kind of musky and kind of fresh and a lot like sunshine and rain.

She wonders where he is. Somewhere after Red John, she knew that much, but where exactly was that? Dead in a ditch?

She wonders if he spoke the truth that night that he left – Patrick Jane had been known to bend the truth from time to time for the sake of theatricality.

She can't believe that he misses her. If he did he wouldn't be gone for so long chasing after a ghost. Chasing after a murderous psychopath that wouldn't let himself be found if you searched the world. That night she sort of had an idea in the back of her head that he'd be back. That he'd show up at her doorstep in a week or two, tell her he missed her and kiss her senseless.

Every time the doorbell rang, she felt foolish expectance rise in her. And every time she was disappointed by a fast-food delivery boy or a door-to-door salesman.

_I never thought we'd have a last kiss_

_I never imagined we'd end like this_

_Your name forever the name on my lips_

_Just like our last kiss_

Tentatively she touches her lips. She misses his kisses.

His kisses (at least the ones that night) were soft and searing and unforgettable. They were slow enough to engrave each moment into her memory; a new kind of torture she's come to both dread and crave in these last months without him. Knowing what she's missing. And missing it more than she can put into words.

She catches the chorus of the song; chuckles at the irony.

"Jane…" She whispers into the silent darkness. She doesn't expect an answer back or any reaction. But she can't help herself from trying.

_I do remember the swing in your step_

_The life of the party; you're showing off again_

_And I roll my eyes and you pull me in_

_I'm not much for dancing but for you I did_

For a moment she lets herself flash back to the better times, before he left.

A slow smile creeps onto her face as she remembers that case at the high school reunion. The near-permanent smile that lit up his face that night was filled with a mixture of fascination, amusement and disbelief. She felt a stirring that night she didn't want to at the time; he was so charming, in his element.

And then he smiled when she recognized her old favourite song and pulled her in to dance. She was never much of a dancer – not in high school, not in college – she was always too busy for those kind of things. How did he put it? 'Driven to succeed to the point of developing an ulcer'. But she couldn't help herself from following him onto the dance floor and resting her head on his shoulder. It felt good in his arms: warm and safe and secure and _good_.

_Because I love your handshake meeting my father_

_I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets_

_How you kissed me when I was in the middle of saying something_

_There's not a day when I don't miss those rude interruptions_

The words flowing from the radio made her smile.

Their relationship was new when the new Red John case came. They were barely a couple when he left.

But when she yelled at him at work, for doing whatever he did that case to earn complaints, he'd shut her up with incredible efficacy.

With a kiss on the lips.

And she'd forgive him just like that.

She'd scold him heavily for bringing their relationship into their work world, but her firmness would never last long.

He melted her.

Every time.

Their subtle flirting and playful banter didn't skip a beat as their relationship bloomed; only her tolerance of how much was going on. She didn't want to seem obvious, which of course spurred her new boyfriend on even more.

She looks at her feet, peeking out from under the hem of his shirt, tears welling up in her eyes.

Even though their relationship was short-lived, it was the sweetest time of her life.

She missed him so…

_So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watched you sleep_

_And I'll feel you forget me like I used to feel you breath_

_And I'll keep up with our old friends just to hear how you are_

_I hope it's nice where you are…_

In an obscure bar somewhere else Patrick Jane, the man she was missing, sat nursing a glass of whiskey.

He looked into the glowing amber liquid and could swear for a moment he saw the image of her reflecting in the glass. His head snapped back and he saw the real reflection; the face of a woman with long flowing hair and a flirty smile, sliding into the chair beside him.

He gave a reluctant smile. "Sorry, I'm married." He murmured.

"I don't see a wedding ring." She said, flirty smile still in tow.

He looks down at his left ring finger – bare and empty. That's because he took it off.

For the woman he loves.

"I'm sorry. But I'm committed to another." He says.

"Pity." She said, giving one last wink and before leaving and taking his whiskey with her.

He draws a deep breath and closes his eyes. Somewhere in the back of the bar the radio is on.

_And I hope the sun shines and it's a beautiful day_

_And something reminds you: you wish you had stayed_

_You can plan for a change in weather and time_

_But I never planned on you changing your mind_

He misses her.

He does.

He wishes that he stayed that night; he wishes he forgot about Red John and his vengeance but he didn't. And he couldn't leave now, he was way too close to finding the bastard.

He misses her in his arms; he misses the smell of cinnamon in her hair and on her skin.

He misses her warm lips against his and the sound of her laughter.

He misses the fire in her eyes when she was yelling at him for stirring up trouble. He's always thought that she was at her most beautiful when she was angry, because she gets so passionate and spirited about whatever it is she's saying that her eyes turn into green and blue orbs of pure fire. He could barely contain himself from kissing her most times. When they were in a relationship he was lucky not to have to.

For the umpteenth time since he left, he wishes to be with her. Or to have her with him. If only for a moment, just to tell her not to worry. To tell her he's okay and that he loves her and misses her.

To kiss her again.

To hold her again.

_So I'll go_

_Sit on the floor wearing your clothes_

_All that I know is I don't know_

_How to be something you miss_

_I never thought we'd have a last kiss_

_I never imagined we'd end like this_

_Your name forever the name on my lips_

_Just like our last kiss_

On opposite sides of the country, two people sat yearning for each other.

Their names forever on the other's lips.

Like their last kiss.

* * *

**Lame ending, I know. But it was right there. I had to. Please R&R. **

**Zanny X**


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